


trust my dreams

by sincereously



Series: A Dream of Spring Rare Pairs Week 2020 [2]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Childhood Friends to Lovers, Jealousy, M/M, Prophetic Dreams
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-17
Updated: 2020-03-17
Packaged: 2021-03-01 04:41:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,597
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23179417
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sincereously/pseuds/sincereously
Summary: Daemon’s eyes widened, and for a moment Alyn felt that Daemon could see right through him. “Do you believe me?”Would anyone not believe him, if Daemon looked at him like that?
Relationships: Daemon II Blackfyre/Alyn Cockshaw
Series: A Dream of Spring Rare Pairs Week 2020 [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1665037
Comments: 4
Kudos: 4





	trust my dreams

**Author's Note:**

> For the A Dream of Spring Rare Pairs Week on Tumblr - day 2, dreams.

It was the scream that woke him, the night before the army left for battle.

The grown-ups slept wherever there was room in Lord Strickland’s keep, both inside and out, but the younger royal children had been given a room of their own, and Daemon had begged to let Alyn sleep in there with them. Alyn sprang out of bed before any of the others, because even asleep he could still tell that it was Daemon screaming. He whirled around to see the flash of white hair just disappear around the corner, the screams still echoing in the halls.

Alyn wound his way after Daemon – he was fast, but Daemon was always a bit faster. It was easy to track the pattering of his feet, the way he had always followed Daemon in stealing apples or playing pranks on his big sisters. It took him only a moment to realize where they were going – his older brothers’ room.

When Alyn threw himself into the room, Daemon was grabbing his brothers’ hands, his eyes red and his nose dribbling snot. The older boys had sneers on their faces, and they constantly pushed Daemon out of the way as he kept screaming, screaming, screaming:

“Don’t go, please don’t go, you can’t, you’ll die!”

“Get _off_ , you lackwit,” Aegon said, shoving Daemon.

“Please – “

“Aw, is little Daemon _scared?”_ Aemon jeered.

“A craven,” Aegon laughed, grabbing Daemon’s arm and twisting it behind his back as he began to march him to the door. “If it wouldn’t mean calling Mother a whore, I’d wonder if he was our brother at all.”

Alyn hated Aegon and Aemon – they would tie knots in Daemon’s hair and whack Alyn in the training yard even after he yielded. But it was nothing compared to the rage that filled him now, ripping a scream out of him even as he jumped onto Aegon’s back and tried to wrap his arm around his ugly throat. But Alyn was only seven, and Aegon and Aemon were twelve, and it was only a moment before Aemon ripped him off his brother and tossed him and Daemon into the hall, with Alyn hitting his head against the wall so hard that his head rang.

If it hadn’t been for Daemon sobbing behind him, Aly would have thrown himself at the door again, demanding that Aegon and Aemon come out and fight him. He was only seven, but he was angry, and Father always said that a man with rage in his veins was unstoppable. But Daemon was curled up with his head buried in his arms and his shoulders heaving, and so Alyn sat down beside him and tentatively placed his own arm around Daemon. Father always said to be careful – _be careful of the dragons, for they are our true kings, and kings never forget a slight_ – but Alyn thought that Daemon wouldn’t mind this once.

They sat in silence for a long while, the stone wall pressing against their backs and the floor cold beneath them. Even as miserable as he was, Daemon glowed in the moonlight. Alyn had almost fallen asleep again when Daemon spoke.

“They’re going to die tomorrow.”

 _Good,_ Alyn just barely stopped himself from saying. Instead, he said, “How do you know?”

It wasn’t a bad question, he didn’t think – Father said that King Daemon had greater warriors than the Falseborn could boast, and there was every chance they would win. Daemon just looked at him, though, and the deep gaze of his purple eyes made Alyn feel foolish indeed.

“I had a dream,” Daemon said, very quietly. “There were nine little dragons in a nest, and the biggest two flew away into a field. And then - ”Daemon choked back a sob, “ – then the field turned to blood, and they-they couldn’t fly, their wings were stuck, and they drowned.”

Alyn couldn’t say that he knew much about dreams, but the earnestness in Daemon’s face…nobody could fake that, he didn’t think.

Daemon’s eyes widened, and for a moment Alyn felt that Daemon could see right through him. “Do you believe me?”

Would anyone not believe him, if Daemon looked at him like that? “Of course I believe you,” Alyn said.

Daemon didn’t reply, but held Alyn tight the rest of the night.

* * *

It was years before Alyn saw Daemon again.

As he alighted from the merchant ship, he took in the free city of Tyrosh – the towering black dragonstone walls, the calls of hucksters advertising their wares and the stench of cracked snail shells on the wharf, the garish blues and pinks and greens dyed into the people whirling around him. Alyn had dreamed of going to Tyrosh ever since he was seven and Daemon had been dragged off into exile while his own craven of a father whimpered on his knees for the Falseborn’s pardon.

His father had tried to stop him coming this time. Before, he could only weep and flail his fists against the man holding him back. This time, he had shoved his father out of his way as he stalked out the door.

The sun was just starting to set as he arrived at the dragon’s court. The high black walls framed an iron gate with a black dragon wrought into it, and at the gate stood two massive guards who looked at Alyn skeptically when he asked to enter and meet King Daemon. The more he argued, the more they resisted, until he heard a clattering behind him that seemed altogether different from the noise of the Tyroshi. Alyn turned around, and there were more Westerosi than he’d seen since he’d left, boldly wearing the sigils of Houses that he hadn’t seen in years.

And there, at the head of the crowd, stood Daemon.

It was the eyes that struck Alyn first. Daemon had grown, of course, but Alyn hadn’t remembered Daemon being so _beautiful,_ with his silver-gold hair flowing around his broad shoulders and the muscles on him visible even through the rich black Westerosi-style shirt and tunic he wore. The only concession he’d made to Tyroshi fashion was the purple earrings that he wore, but even that looked natural, bringing out his eyes. Alyn had thought that he’d forgotten the exact color, but looking into them again he wondered how he ever thought he could.

Daemon smiled at him then. The smile, too, was the same. 

“An old companion of mine,” Daemon said. “Let him in, Rello.”

The time after that was bliss – Daemon took him into his court, reintroduced him to his weary-looking mother and grim Bittersteel and all his brothers and sisters, sat him at a place of honor at dinner that night. They dined on roasted peppers and fish heavy with garlic while Daemon asked him all that had happened in Westeros while they were away, and for a moment Alyn could almost pretend that no time had passed at all since they had last seen each other.

 _A king,_ Alyn thought as Daemon greeted a lord who had some matter to bring before him, acknowledging him with a respectful nod and an air of majesty. That Daemon then passed off the lord to Bittersteel made no difference to him at all. _He is truly a king._

“Walk with me,” Daemon said after supper was done, and Alyn did not hesitate to follow. They continued to talk as they wound their way through the gardens and halls of the court, although they had to halt periodically while Daemon spoke to some lord or the other. Sometimes Daemon would stop to greet a comely young man with a soft smile and a touch on the shoulder, and something burned in Alyn at the sight, a howling _mine, mine, mine_ that hummed through his very blood and darkened the edges of his vision.

They finally ended their walk blessedly alone, sitting in a secluded garden in the shadows of the mango trees while the sun finally retreated and plunged Tyrosh into an unexpectedly warm night. Alyn knew that he hadn’t had much to drink at dinner, but he felt drunk all the same, especially when Daemon put his hand on Alyn’s shoulder and leaned in close.

“I knew you would come,” Daemon whispered in Alyn’s ear, and it took everything Alyn had in him to keep from shivering. “I had a dream that I stood on the beach by the harbor, and as I watched three feathers washed ashore. They were red and white and yellow, and I gathered them up and tied them in my hair, and when I woke I knew you’d be here with me.”

“That’s all I ever wanted,” Alyn said, nearly choking on his own honesty.

Daemon smiled, so close that Alyn could almost feel it. “Alyn. Oh, Alyn, my friend.”

A cold rush swept through Alyn at that, and he moved away. “A _friend._ ”

His king gave him a curious look, his eyes slightly narrowed, and then he laughed brightly. “Is that what you’re worried about?” Daemon cupped Alyn’s face in his hands, turning Alyn to look at him. “Alyn,” Daemon said, “I do have a lot of friends. I must, if I ever want to reclaim what’s rightfully mine.” He brought out that sweet smile again, and Alyn felt his heart shatter and mend again in an instant. “But you’re the only one who has my dreams.”

Daemon’s lips crashed against his, and Alyn’s hands wound in Daemon’s hair and clutched desperately against Daemon’s back, and then there was no thinking at all, not for a long, long time.


End file.
